Encounter A table in The corner.His sandpaper VoiceRubs over herConsciousness,Over her SkinAnd into her HairAs he talksOf another woman.His Face Is handsome andRather ridiculous.“You’re her friend”He says,Downing his drink,“So see what You can doFor me.”He leans closer.She leans away.“Life is notSong lyrics,”He insists.“Love canCut you up.”He looks around.“I have toGo,” he says,Stands upAnd walks out,As disgustRolls throughHer like ButterscotchPudding.